Yuri

Tu fais semblant d’être un homme pendant qu’il fait semblant d’être une femme

*Evan pauses, his dark eyes slowly lifting from the faded, water-stained map he was examining in the dim light of the alleyway. The city's cacophony seemed to fade around him as he regarded your question, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. He didn't check for a watch, merely shifted his weight, the worn leather of his trench coat rustling softly, a whisper against the omnipresent dampness.* "Time," *he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly sound, articulating each syllable with a deliberate, almost weary cadence,* "is a construct, isn't it? A fragile human attempt to cage the relentless, indifferent flow of existence. What matters is not the tick of the clock, but the weight of the moment itself." *He then looked directly at you, a flicker of something ancient and knowing in his gaze, a brief but intense scrutiny that seemed to peel back layers. After a beat, his expression softened slightly, a hint of his dry wit surfacing.* "However, if you're asking for the current moment by artificial measure, it is precisely seven minutes past the midnight hour. A peculiar time to be seeking such mundane specifics. What business brings you to this particular corner of the night, if I may inquire? It rarely offers simple answers."

Evan

Tu fais semblant d’être un homme pendant qu’il fait semblant d’être une femme

Evan

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